


think of the head trauma

by polariz3



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Concussions, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, ending is bad but i'm okay with that, lots of regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 20:04:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16729845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polariz3/pseuds/polariz3
Summary: chapter 3 investigation. ouma hits his head on the floorboards hard enough to draw a lot of blood and saihara treats it like the big deal it actually is.





	think of the head trauma

**Author's Note:**

> two differences here: one, maki isn't with saihara when he finds ouma laying on the floor. two, the class trial starts 40-60 minutes after he finds him rather than right then. don't ask me why or how, just go with it.

There was a moment of calm before the total panic swept over Saihara. Somehow, what he was seeing didn't register for a few seconds and he looked over it as if it were just the same section of hallway it had always been. Then, it came over him for the third time that day. A sickening feeling of static, pins-and-needles dread washed across his skin as he stumbled back, away from the blood and away from the body.

"It's a lie!"

Or... not body?

Ouma perked his head up with a smile, giggling as he took in the successful results of his prank. The look on Saihara's face was absolutely _priceless_.

"Did I surprise you? Were you gonna scream and cry in terror?"

"Ouma! Are you alright?"

He got to his feet, chuckling to himself the whole time. "Of course I'm alright! I just tripped on one of the floorboards. I- I was checking something in the next room over and uh..."

Something seemed different about the way he was speaking and his general demeanor. Saihara's intuition told him that Ouma's smile was off somehow. He seemed a little dazed, almost confused, which was a drastic difference in comparison to how he usually seemed.

"And what?"

"There's... a floorboard without a crosspiece under it. I stepped on it and it kind of uh... hurt."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Are _you_ sure that _you're_  okay? You looked pretty spooked!"

"Ouma, tell me." He took a step into Ouma's personal space, making him feel much smaller than he usually would. Much to Ouma's surprise, he actually sounded assertive.

Typically, this would be easy to hide, but he felt scared by Saihara standing over him and demanding to know how he felt. He didn't want to appear vulnerable by saying what was really going on in his body. His head felt fuzzy with pain, there was nausea in the pit of his stomach, and he felt as if he could faint at any moment. Saihara didn't _seem_ as if he would take advantage of any of this, but the confusion Ouma was feeling made him unsure.

He stammered over his words, struggling to figure out a good way out of the conversation but just barely keeping it in his head. "I'm- I'm fine, Saihara-chan. Don't you worry."

"You are obviously not fine."

Ouma took a step back, careful to maintain his balance. In moments like this, he would rock back and forth on his heels or fidget to release any nervousness he had in him, but as Saihara stood and observed him, it seemed to be seeping into his facial expression. He struggled to maintain eye contact or even keep his eyes open. Despite the dimness, the light made his head hurt worse.

"Ouma-kun, come here. You need help."

"I do not," he declared with a pause in the middle of his sentence, "need help."

Driven by concern and feelings of protectiveness that he didn't want to admit to, Saihara gave up on trying to convince him and grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him slightly down the hall.

"What, are you gonna take me away? Make me the third victim? I never took you for the murderer type, Saihara-chan."

"You know that's not what I'm doing." Saihara stopped and turned to face him at the top of the stairs. "I can tell you're nervous."

"Me? Nervous? Never."

Saihara huffed and cautiously pulled him down the stairs, out into the courtyard, and into the dorm building. Ouma chuckled anxiously.

"You're not bringing me inside, are you? I didn't think you'd be so perverted."

Saihara froze, feeling heat crawl across his face. He was suddenly warm and uncomfortable. He felt guilty to the core, shaming himself for having protective thoughts with such an affectionate undertone. "I- I'm not a pervert! Don't say that!"

"You sound awfully, uh..." Ouma trailed off, distracted by the pain and unable to recall the word he wanted to use. This worried Saihara.

"Awfully what?" He questioned, opening the door to his room and bringing Ouma inside.

"I- I can't remember..." His voice seemed concerned, but in the blink of an eye, he refreshed his demeanor with a smirk, regretting his admission but unable to take it back. "You know what I meant anyway!"

"You should lay down, Ouma-kun. It isn't very good for you to stand around talking."

"Please, I'll be-"

Saihara knew exactly what he was going to say and pulled him toward the bed. He gently but firmly made him sit down, then pushed on Ouma's shoulder until he lay flat. Ouma didn't have it in him to resist, suddenly feeling devoid of the energy he needed. Saihara disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, then came back with a hand towel soaked in warm water. He sat down on the bed next to Ouma and carefully began to wipe away the blood.

"Sit still and close your eyes," he said, hoping Ouma would just cooperate for once. Much to Saihara's surprise, he listened.

Once he could see the scrapes that made up the source of the blood, Saihara felt relieved yet confused. It wasn't that bad of a wound, but if it was only a moderately sized gash, then why was there so much blood? He wondered if Ouma was anemic or if there were injuries he wasn't seeing. Those were the only things that really came to mind. The former seemed reasonable to him, since Ouma seemed too small for someone who ate anything with proper nutrients, but he didn't intend on asking.

Ouma opened his eyes and stared up at Saihara. As the younger detective tried to get the blood out of his hair and figure out what to do next, all Ouma did was watch. He sat and analyzed the expressions and quirks of his pale face, trying to reason what was going on in his head but feeling too dazed to really put in the effort.

"How do you feel?"

"Absolutely terrible." For a moment, he seemed genuine, but then it vanished once he saw Saihara's expression soften. "Just kidding! That's a lie."

"Is it? I'm not going to believe you, you know. I only want to help because I know you're badly hurt."

"I- I'm not that hurt. Stop being so... protective. It's annoying." Ouma spewed untruths in a scattershot fashion, saying just about anything as long as he thought it might dissuade Saihara from being so caring. He didn't believe Saihara really wanted to help. He felt paranoid that he was only doing it for ulterior motives, just like anyone else would.

Saihara's face fell. He pulled away from Ouma, sitting straight up and looking anywhere but Ouma's soft eyes. He felt ashamed and self-conscious because of what he had said. Ouma began to regret it.

"Wait, Saihara-chan, I- I didn't mean it," he stammered gently. "You were... right. It was a lie. You- you're not annoying, I promise. Please, I-"

Ouma stopped, instantly regretting allowing himself to talk. He wished he could take it back. Saihara looked up at him.

"Please what?"

He paused for a few seconds, then, in his quietest voice, Ouma spoke again. "I want you to help me."

There was a moment of silence between the two of them. Saihara was astonished, shock and awe and butterflies coursing through him. Ouma was terrified, dread and regret and vulnerability gnawing away at his insides.

"It's okay," Saihara told him. "I'll try my best to help you, alright? Just try to relax and conserve your energy. I'll get you something to make you feel better."

By the time he left and returned with an ice pack, snacks, and some mild painkillers, Ouma had gotten under the blankets. Saihara gently set everything down on the desk next to the bed.

He sat down and hesitantly, with eyes that softly asked permission, he placed his hand on Ouma's head. Saihara waited for a moment, trying to see if he'd resist, and when he didn't, he pushed back, stroking the soft, dark locks springing out from under his fingers.

"You're... touching me," Ouma commented, surprised that anyone would dare. He wasn't sure how to even begin responding to affection like that from Saihara of all people.

"I am. Your hair is very soft." Saihara murmured, his eyes fixated on what he was doing. It took a moment to process his own words, and he turned red upon realizing he'd said it.

Ouma felt tired. Exhausted, even. He wanted to close his eyes and lean into the feeling of Saihara's hand. Under no circumstances would he ever want to be vulnerable for someone, but with the way everything hurt and the way Saihara was taking care of him so softly and gently...

"Why are you doing this?" Ouma asked him, his voice small.

"Because I... care about you," Saihara replied.

"You care about me?" He questioned incredulously, an amused undertone to his voice. 

Taken off guard by the way Ouma seemed to be mocking him, Saihara paused. "Forget about it. Just take some of these," he insisted, handing him the bottle of painkillers, "and try to rest."

The two sat in silence again as Ouma took the pills gratefully. He wanted to press for details, but he also didn't want to believe Saihara in the slightest. Believing was vulnerability incarnate to him. It would be nice if it were true, but he would never want to take the chance.

Saihara, on the other hand, wished he could take back what he had said about caring for him. Ouma didn't seem to like it. He was already afraid to push Ouma's buttons as it was, but saying he cared about him felt terrifying. He couldn't believe he'd actually said that. It made him feel utterly stupid.

Before either of them could open their mouths, the screen in Saihara's room buzzed on and filled the air with Monokuma's voice. Neither of them wanted to go, but they both feared what would come if they didn't. Ouma didn't think anything would come of their interaction after the trial. After all, what would possibly possess Saihara to keep at it if he pushed him away like that?

Unbeknownst to him, all Saihara could think of was how badly the head trauma would affect him over time. No matter how hard Ouma pushed and no matter how stupid he felt for doing it, it wasn't like anyone else would make sure he was alright, so Saihara was the one who would have to. At least, that's what he told himself, anyway.


End file.
